Wings of Steam
by Anomalous Materials
Summary: -AU- In the age of steam & Queen Victoria, London is a dangerous place- especially for those unaware of what gears turn in the shadows. What novice assassin Ezio Auditore & artist-cum-inventor Leonardo find may change the world, but only if they survive.


**Author's Note: First story on --this one's for the Assassin's Creed fans on /cm/. My Victorian history is a little rusty, and I apologize for how short this chapter is, but I hope you all (and any other readers) enjoy! **

**Unbeta'd, and please review.**

--

The sharp-faced, monocled man's footsteps rang sharp on the marble floor, echoing throughout the cavernous space. The structure before him hummed with life, urging him silently to step out and touch it—only for a second!—but he resisted, knowing it was not yet time.

Not yet, and yet... they were so close to their goal. His opponents knew nothing of his plans; they were but mewling infants, especially the young one. But even young eagles have claws, he reminded himself. With this much at stake, he could hardly afford to become complacent.

He snorted, turned back to the archway that served as both entrance and exit, and stepped through before signalling for a servant to close the heavy iron door with a crank. Yes, things were moving along rather nicely. The novice had just barely managed to elude death a few months' past, and next time escape would not be nearly so easy.

--

"You can hardly expect to ever get better if you run off on another mission without first letting your rib set," Leonardo chastised as he poured a solution onto Ezio's wound that made him hiss from the pain. The artist simply rolled his eyes, and kept dabbing at his fresh wounds with a cloth. "I'm sorry; it tends to sting. But really, Ezio, don't be such an infant—this was your fault in the first place!"

Outside, the incoming thunderstorm boomed ominously; frankly, Ezio was just glad he had made it in before it got truly wretched out. Injuries—well, those were a part of everyday life for him. The study of his friend's home was usually a comfortable place, decorated in dark red and wood tones. Tonight it had become some sort of prison from which he was apparently never supposed to escape, if Leonardo's words held any grain of truth.

"Yes, but—it was during a flash of lightning, and I couldn't see to dodge the bullet! Besides," Ezio added sullenly, "they weren't _supposed _to have guns."

The look of disbelief Leonardo flashed him while he worked made Ezio feel truly guilty, even though he knew he was in the right.

"You keep reminding me—in fact, you remind me every time I come in, even when I'm not wounded—that my injuries are my fault," Ezio grunted, loosening his cravat in order to stuff it in his mouth. If he had to put up with Leonardo's ministrations, the least he could do was preserve his dignity.

"I do it because otherwise, you will forget when you're in a good mood. If you would be more careful, you wouldn't have such problems."

Ezio couldn't talk with the cloth in his mouth as Leonardo sutured his wound, but the eye roll and glare that took the place of his words were communication enough.

"There," Leonardo said before grabbing a candle to hold it up to his work to make sure everything was satisfactory. "Now, please, sleep. I will bind your ankles and chloroform you if I have to."

"You wouldn't."

"I might." A devious twinkle appeared in Leonardo's blue eyes, made even brighter by the ambient glow of the gas lamp, that Ezio knew from experience meant there was something up his friend's sleeve.

Obviously, tonight wasn't a night to call Leonardo's bluff. "Alright, I will sleep." The assassin sighed, carefully pulling his shirt back on as Leonardo stood up. His bloodied vest, on the other hand, got draped it over the back of the couch. "Here, if that's alright. If not, I will make my way to Sister Theodora's."

"I..." Leonardo paused, lips pressed together in a line. "Yes, that would be best. You shouldn't be going anywhere tonight—hopefully the couch will be comfortable enough. If you need anything, I will be just upstairs, and it is safe here. Scotland Yard knows better than to bother me when I'm working on something."

Ezio was tempted to ask what had made him pause but thought better of it, instead focusing on that mention of work. "You have a new commission?" He himself had never had so much of a mind for art or technological wonders as Leonardo, but the things he created were still, as the artist would say, 'fascinating.'

"Yes, actually... though it is _most_ unusual." Sleep forgotten, Leonardo rushed over to his desk to pick up a sheaf of papers that had been lying there, and promptly sat himself down on the couch next to Ezio. "This commission comes from none other than the Royal Family themselves. It would seem the Prince Consort is a patron of the sciences, and he's dedicated rather a lot of money to my study of the human form and general biology." The artist selected a few choice sheets from his stack, and arrayed them so that Ezio could look without moving. "There's even the possibility I would get a chance to give a talk at the Royal Institution—I've been studying Pasteur's experiments as well, and I feel like I can improve upon them greatly."

Ezio looked at the sheets; they were filled with sketches of limbs, muscles, and tendons, and one was full of what appeared to be sketches of samples placed under a microscope. The ones concerning the human body were especially detailed, which gave Ezio a little pause. He honestly wouldn't have been shocked if they came out of the page, fully articulate and alive, so intricately were they transcribed onto the paper.

"Leonardo?"

"Mmm?" The artist's voice was distracted, but he soon snapped back from whatever realm of creativity he'd been lost in. "What is it, Ezio?"

"I was just wondering..." Ezio laid a forefinger on a diagram of the mechanics of the upper arm, and looked up at the other man. "How did you get these notes to be so detailed, so precise?"

"Oh, well, you see..." A slightly-embarrassed note slipped into Leonardo's voice, and he peered down into his hands. "I have an... well, an agreement, with the Yard. That's why they know not to bother me, because we get on so well."

"Go on."

"Well, you see, there are executions and murders, of course, and they let me into the morgue, sometimes, to study them."

"Isn't that... unclean?" Ezio, despite all of his dealings with the underside of London recently, was still a nobleman in his mind. Those affectations had not yet had time to filter out of his system in favour of more practical mannerisms. "Most of those people are lower class, Leonardo. Filthy, and sickly. Are you sure that's safe?"

"Ezio, I am well aware of how illness works," came the wry response, "perhaps even more aware than you, don't you think? I am always sure to be cleanly about it. And with all the benefits that can come from such studies, it is worth the risk." Leonardo stood, pulling the papers out from under Ezio's hands, and turned to walk away. "Besides, how do you think I've learned how to treat your wounds so well?"

"Practice?" Ezio answered, sheepishly, knowing he was treading on thin ice, but unable to stop himself from making the quip.

Leonardo scoffed, shook his head, and walked out of the room. The narrow, winding staircase to his room in the loft creaked with each step before the artist closed the door hard behind him. Ezio was left alone, then, to ponder what exactly he had said to set Leonardo off. He was only trying to make conversation.

The assassin looked out to the window for advice, but only found sheets of torrential rain, and no answers. Even had he wanted to disobey Leonardo's orders and prowl the city, tonight was no night to do it, so he committed himself to sleep.


End file.
